Father, Forgive Me
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: A series of drabbles, featuring Gil-galad and his father Fingon at several different times in Gil-galad's life.
1. Chapter One

**Father, Forgive Me**

Lydwina Marie

 _ **~One~**_

"Adar?"

The tiny voice came from at his knees, and King Fingon looked down to see a dark-haired elfling plucking feverishly at the hem of his tunic.

"What is it, títhen-gil?" he asked gently, bending down to lift his chubby son into his arms. "Are you all right?"

At his father's words, Gil-galad's small face crumpled and he looked as though he was about to cry. "A-Adar!" he choked. "Do not be silly!"

Now a tear leaked from the corner of his eye as he gazed earnestly at his father. "I am so sorry!" he sobbed. "I did not mean to, but it just did it! It was not the real me!"

"Not the real you?" Fingon asked in some amusement, backing till he could drop carefully into a chair, standing his little son on his lap so he could meet the tearful eyes. "Of what do you speak, little one?"

Gil-galad had to move his feet swiftly to keep his balance as Fingon shifted a little, clutching at his father's forearms. He let out a shaky sigh as his father finally took pity on his plight, pushing him gently down until he was sitting.

"Now tell me what is wrong," Fingon said softly, stroking his son's back as he waited. He stared as the little shoulders began to shake, feeling hot tears soak his tunic.

"Adar..." Gil-galad wept, "it was not the real me, really, Adar, it was not! A-Ammë says th-there is a bad thing inside me that sometimes does things that are not good, and it made me hit your vase very hard!"

Fingon frowned a little, but did not comment. After a moment of heartbroken sobbing, the elfling continued.

"It made me hit it w-with a stick – and now it is lying broke on the floor! I am so sorry, Adar!"

 **Elven Translations**

Títhen-gil – little star


	2. Chapter Two

_**~Two~**_

To my lord Fingon, High King of the Noldor, in the year 587 F.A.

 _Dear Adar,_

 _I did not want to be the one to tell you this, but it is my duty. And I am begging you right now, Adar, please do not be angry. I tried my best, as you always told me to do, but sometimes my best is just not enough._

 _Adar, Maedhros is dead._

 _I tried to stop him. I have said so already, but I do not think he heard my voice. Perhaps the evilness of what he did had already dawned upon him, drowning the good that lay in his heart; I can make no judgement. He and his brother, Maglor, stole the last Silmarils from the Valar. Maglor survived, but he is scarred for life._

 _Manwë sent a messenger to Arda, to regain the last two Silmarils from the accursed Morgoth, but when Fëanor's sons heard, they came to claim their father's stones. I know not what has happened to Manwë's servant, for I did not see him again, but as Maedhros and Maglor looked upon the jewels they held, their hands were encompassed in flames. This moment – the moment they had waited for since the fateful vow they made so many years before – was cast down in wrath and ashes. Maglor fled, casting his Silmaril into the sea, and Maedhros, unwilling to release the stone he had sought so long to recover, cast himself, and the Silmaril, into a fiery chasm._

 _The Silmarils glitter in the ocean, the earth, and the sky – their light is present, but remote and unmovable to those who gaze upon them._

 _Adar, I held Maglor as he wept – for his brother, for his fallen father, and not least of all for the Silmarils. I saw them, the jewels over which so many battles were fought, for whose sake so many lives were lost – and I gained a seed of understanding as to why so much was risked to recover them. The light of the Two Trees is meshed within their depths, and even the flames Varda summoned glowed with an fey beauty. I have seen, and I cannot forget._

 _Forgive me._

 _With much love, your son._

 **A/N:** I'm sorry to have been absent for *gasp* over a week (!), but I have had absolutely no inspiration lately, so there really wasn't a reason to be on. :( I realise that I am making quite a stretch, having Gil-galad present for the death of Maedhros, but I needed something for him to be sorry for and I hope this suffices.


End file.
